


scream

by redhoodedwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, M/M, Miscommunication, Physical Therapist Derek Hale, Physical Therapy, honestly remember nothing after s4 so no spoilers anywhere, post-show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedwolf/pseuds/redhoodedwolf
Summary: tumblr prompt from anjalibutch: They both keep asking each other out but thinking the other one is rejecting them and lydia has to like banshee scream some sense into them or something
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 5
Kudos: 227





	scream

**Author's Note:**

> WOW.  
> Three years later, almost do the day, here I come back with my 70th sterek fic on AO3  
> enjoy!  
> originally posted on tumblr

“So, what are you doing this weekend?”

Stiles scoffed, tossing the lacrosse ball back up towards the ceiling and catching it narrowly before it smacked him on the nose on the way down. “Not going on a date,” he said, somewhat bitterly. It’d been over three months since the last one of those and he’s starting to take it personally. Is he no longer attractive? Did moving in with his dad while he goes through surgery recovery really demote his worth?

Derek was quiet for a moment, probably engrossed in his bestiary research again. When Stiles turned onto his side on the bed and glanced at him, he caught Derek’s eyes flitting back down to the book. “I see,” the werewolf said a beat later, no emotion readable in his voice.

Stiles continued to stare at him, mostly unabashedly, noting how Derek’s fingers curled over one corner of the book, the shadows his dark eyelashes cast over his cheeks, his shoulders bare underneath a tight white tank top.

* * *

“I am starving,” John Stilinski complained, and Stiles had come to expect this complaint every evening after physical therapy, like clockwork.

Derek, his physical therapist, chuckled as he lowered Stiles’ father into the living room recliner, removing the crutches from his hands. “You did good work today, it’s to be expected.”

“What’s the prognosis, doc?”

Derek ignored the nickname, which Stiles knew five years ago would have garnered even his father the Hale Death Glare. “You’ve got good bones, Sheriff, and they’re healing nicely. In a couple weeks we’ll try to get you walking without the crutches--”

“As long as you continue doing your daily exercises,” Stiles finished Derek’s thought as he brought a healthy plate of fruits and vegetables out from the kitchen to settle onto the table next to his dad’s chair.

Derek nodded at him, a small smile on his lips. His eyes were sparkling with mirth.

Stiles felt the words tumble out of his mouth, “We should go get dinner. Together,” he tacked on when he got control of his mouth again.

Maybe doing this in front of his immobile father wasn’t the best choice, but needs must?

Derek’s smile faltered, and his eyes flicked away from Stiles over to his father and then back to Stiles. Derek cleared his throat, and cast his eyes downward. Stiles pursed his lips.

“We--You shouldn’t leave your dad. He’ll need the pork chops you’ve been defrosting for dinner tonight to help revive him.”

Stiles felt a frozen smile on his face and a similar coolness in his stomach. “Right. Forgot about those.”

* * *

Danny arched an eyebrow when Stiles slid onto a stool at the bar, and before Stiles could utter a greeting, asked, “Does Lydia know you’re here?”

Stiles blinked. “Um, no? She’s in Boston? Do I need her permission to drink? I’ll have what’s on tap.”

Danny’s eyebrow looked far more judgmental, but he moved to grab a mug for Stiles’ beer and filled it. “I ask because she’s been asking me to keep her up to date with your... shall we say _movements_ here _._ I don’t think she expected you in a gay bar at night when you could be with someone else.”

Stiles scoffed and took a long drink from his mug. “And who could that be, my _dad_?”

“Was thinking younger, more scruffy, more fangs,” Danny shot back with, and Stiles’ beer suddenly went down like lava, drying up his insides and instantly draining the life from him.

“No. No, that’s not...” Stiles shook his head, unable to finish.

Danny made a noise, and Stiles looked back up at him.

“Weird. Ran into _someone_ at the grocery store last week, and all he, ehem, _they_ , if we’re still pretending here, talked about was helping _you,_ and why _you_ were in town, and if I had seen _you_ recently.”

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “He’s my dad’s PT, okay? I’m home for my dad. That’s what he cares about. He made that pretty clear.”

Danny refilled his mug without Stiles asking for it, and it made a dull clanking when the full drink hit the bartop. “You asked him out?”

Stiles took the mug into his hands and said nothing.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Look, I know how scarce FMLA time is, even for me, I have no idea how much they give you fancy FBI operatives--”

“They’re actually surprisingly good about it,” Stiles interrupted, a puff to his chest. “That, and they know if they ever want me back, which they do because they need me, then they’ll give me what I want.”

“You have such a confident attitude when it comes to your job,” Danny said, as if his statement had a double meaning. “Expect a call from Lydia tomorrow.”

* * *

Stiles was in his room the next morning, glad for his foresight the night before to not drink himself into a stupor he hadn’t found himself in since college, window open to let in the morning breeze and the sound of Derek’s voice as he stood on the front porch, talking into his phone.

Derek was early for his dad’s appointment, so Stiles had no qualms about making him wait. He wasn’t ready to face him yet, not without waking up a bit more and removing the images of dream-Derek from his brain.

“Look,” Derek said abruptly, and the sudden clarity of his voice caught Stiles’ attention. “I’ve already gotten a no, okay? I’m not such an asshole as to ask twice.”

Stiles couldn’t see him and didn’t want to move closer to the window, in case Derek heard or sensed him eavesdropping, so he moved about his room as naturally as possible, pulling off his sleep pants and dressing in fresh jeans.

“I don’t know what Danny told you, but--”

Stiles stubbed his toes on the leg of his bed, so he missed the rest of Derek’s sentence as he cursed up a storm mentally and shook out his foot to try and stop the sharp pain.

“We can’t all be special like you.”

Stiles collapsed onto the edge of his bed. He’d barely caught the words coming from Derek, they’d been spoken so gently. Stiles swallowed thickly. Who could Derek be talking to that garnered such respect and tenderness? Maybe Cora?

The doorbell rang downstairs, and his dad called, “Derek’s here!” from the kitchen, meaning “get the door for me I’m finishing up the last of my exercises that I promised I would do yesterday but never did.”

Stiles pulled on a shirt and raced down the stairs, opening the door for Derek in record time. “We should just get you a key to the house,” Stiles half-joked.

There was a look on Derek’s face that Stiles couldn’t read. He also couldn’t tell if it had to do with his phone conversation or seeing Stiles.

Derek glanced up behind him and said, “Your phone is--” he paused and shook his head. “Your dad in the living room?”

Stiles stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind them. “The kitchen, I think? I just woke up.”

Derek glanced at the hall clock that proclaimed it was almost eleven thirty in the morning. He licked his lips. “Long night?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Went out for drinks,” he answered a beat later, spotting his father in the kitchen, crutch under one arm and trying to bend to reach something in the fridge. “Dad, would you let me get it, please?”

“I would if my son didn’t come home in the early hours of the morning, thus sleeping past any kind of respectable time, to help me eat something before my PT appointment. Hello Derek,” his father greeted, smile on his face wavering before he asked, “Everything okay?”

Stiles turned to see Derek’s eyes on the floor as he nodded. “All good, Sheriff. Let’s get you squared away.”

* * *

Stiles used the appointment time as a reason to escape and get groceries. Halfway to the store, his phone sprang to live, vibrating up a storm in the cup holder. He let the call ring out, but then whoever it was called back immediately. With a sigh, Stiles pulled into the closest parking lot which happened to be for a bank and reached for his phone. He’d assumed it was work calling, but Lydia’s name was flashing on the screen, declaring several missed calls from earlier in the morning as well. He’d recalled Danny’s warning from the night (this morning?) before and groaned, loudly.

When the phone rang again, he picked up immediately. “Yes, strawberry goddess?”

“Are you with Derek?”

Stiles glanced in his rear-view mirror to double check (hey, it had happened before) and replied, “No, he’s at home working with Dad. Why?”

“Where are you?”

Stiles was starting to get a headache. “On my way to the store. Pulled into a parking lot because you called.”

“Good. Switch to FaceTime.”

Stiles knew it wasn’t a question. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen, unenthused, until Lydia’s face appeared before him.

“So, what did Danny tell you?” Stiles asked, wanting to get this out of the way.

“Stiles, you look sad,” Lydia said with a “tsk” in her voice.

“Not exactly swimming in roses here in good ol’ BH, hon.”

Lydia smiled sympathetically. “You miss work?”

Stiles rubbed his free hand through his hair. “I mean, yeah? But this is way more important. And it’s been good family time. The SanFran branch is close but not close enough.”

Lydia nodded. “I know. But you should be making the most out of your time. Like not shooting yourself in the foot.”

Stiles squawked indignantly. “Excuse me?”

“That’s what Danny told me, at least,” She flipped her hand back and forth, and Stiles noticed something gleaming on her fourth finger.

“Lydia, are you engaged?!” Stiles shrieked. Some lady coming out of the bank glared at him and clutched her purse tight to her chest. How dare she, he worked for the _FBI_.

Lydia huffed and examined her left hand. “Yes. All the more reason for you to stop shooting yourself in the foot so you can bring a date to my wedding. You’ll be my best man, of course.”

“Of-of course. I’m-I’d be honored. But, wait...” Stiles shook his head, reorganizing his thoughts. “I’m not shooting myself, I’m putting myself out there and getting rejected. I’m...getting shot at. Metaphorically.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if his connection froze or if Lydia was just holding the “Stiles is an idiot” look on her face.

“Lydia,” Stiles said, in warning.

“And he calls _me_ special,” Lydia murmured under her breath, face finally breaking.

And that. That pinged a bell in Stiles’ brain. “You were the one on the phone with Derek earlier?”

“Yes, telling him about my upcoming nuptials and how I was hoping to use Hale land to have the ceremony and reception on. And about his choice in _date_.”

Stiles watched Lydia smirk, and it was still scary even pixelated. He tried to think back on the little he’d overheard from the call. But putting it into context didn’t make sense. Because then Derek would have been meaning that he’d asked someone on a date, and got turned down. Not impossible, but improbable, especially considering his character growth since Stiles was in high school.

A sick feeling settled into Stiles’ stomach when he remembered what else Derek had said. “Did... he asked out--”

“Yes, Stiles,” Lydia said with a relieved sigh.

“Danny,” Stiles choked out and slumped back in the seat. Of _course_. 

“Oh for the love of Christ,” Lydia hissed, and Stiles slid his gaze back over to the phone to see Lydia practically seething. “I will scream. I am about to scream. Just go get your stupid groceries, go home, _talk to Derek_ , and then call me.”

“So he can let me down a second time? No thanks,” Stiles grumbled, but she did have a point about the store.

“You are a disappointment,” Lydia said before abruptly ending the call, which stung a little, but Stiles knew she didn’t really mean it.

* * *

Derek was at his car door when he got home an hour after leaving and helped to bring the bags of groceries into the house. He even helped put them away in the kitchen, not uttering a word the entire time. It was weirding Stiles out, but not enough to tell him to stop. The job was done in more than half the time.

“Your dad is taking a shower. Don’t worry,” Derek added, when Stiles opened his mouth, “I’ve got ears on him. He’s perfectly steady, using the shower chair and everything. Just didn’t want another sponge bath from his son.”

Stiles scoffed, unable to look at Derek for more than a second without feeling jealous. “They aren’t a cake walk for me either.”

“I’m not dating Danny.”

Stiles stopped rolling the empty plastic bags into a large ball and tossed it onto the counter, wound-up bags spilling in random directions and expanding very slowly.

“I didn’t ask him out either. I wouldn’t--” Derek’s voice faltered, and Stiles look at him truly for the first time that day. Derek’s shoulders were slumped, and he looked exhausted. “I wouldn’t do that to you, unknowingly or knowingly.”

“Um.” Stiles was now feeling like the idiot Lydia looked at him like.

“Lydia texted me, said you thought I’d asked him out, but I didn’t, I barely see him, he’s only working here before he starts grad school--”

“I know,” Stiles said, needing to do something with his body before he went into a complete shock. He was lost, which didn’t happen much these days.

Derek didn’t look any happier; in fact he looked even more upset, though his emotions only played out in the crinkles on his face and the slope of his torso. “Of course, yeah, I mean you spent all night with him so...” Derek trailed off.

Stiles started to catch on. “Yeeeah,” he responded, slowly. “Because he was bartending at the bar I went to last night. Contractually obligated to stick around and make drinks.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed. “But then who did you meet for drinks?”

Stiles raised his hands up. “Nobody? I mean, there were others _there_ , but it was a Wednesday night, dude, not exactly popping.”

“So you’re not dating Danny?”

Stiles scoffed. “No, Danny is out of my league and I am not his type.” He swallowed before adding, “You are, though.”

Derek nodded once, then again. “Oh. So it’s just me, then. I see.”

“That’s great. Wanna show me the picture?” Stiles asked, reaching out to settle a hand on Derek’s arm and squeezing the muscle. “I feel like we’re working with different cameras here.”

Derek’s eyes fell on Stiles’ touch of comfort, gaze trailing up his arm and finally landing on his face. “Lydia is getting married,” he mumbled.

“She is,” Stiles said, because it was good they agreed on something.

Derek stared at him, took a deep breath, and said, “And I want to date you.”

Stiles’ grip on Derek’s arm tightened. He forced back the stupid smile that wanted to overwhelm his face and said on an exhale, “What made you change your mind?”

“Change my mind? I haven’t. I asked you on a date. You said you weren’t interested.”

Stiles pulled Derek a step closer to him, eyes wide and head shaking. “Uh, no, I would never do that, besides it was _you_ who turned _me_ down, remember?”

Derek took hold of Stiles’ wrist and pulled him even closer, their chests touching. “I think neither of us have been working with a full deck here.”

“You’re mixing metaphors now,” Stiles warned, and knew Derek could hear the way his heart was tripping over itself by the tightening of his grip.

“No, you used one metaphor, and then I used one. No mixing, yet,” Derek challenged, pale eyes flitting all over Stiles’ face before his gaze was landing below his nose.

“I think I am starting to get why Lydia wanted to scream in my face earlier,” Stiles murmured, lips close to brushing Derek’s as he rocked forward.

“I kind of want to scream _now_.”

Stiles and Derek jumped apart to see an amused and wet-haired Sheriff in the kitchen doorway, a towel slung over his shoulders.

“Dad, you are the worst,” Stiles declared.

His father gave him a look.

“Oh, go do your alphabet foot exercises,” Stiles shot back, snagging Derek’s wrist and pulling him past his father and into the hallway. “I’m going to ask a second time, Derek, and I know not taking no for an answer is so high-school-Stiles but I think this time I can make an exception.”

Derek was grinning at him, teeth on display, and Stiles tilted forward to kiss them, but realized halfway through the motion how weird that might be.

“Will you go on a date with me? And be my date to Lydia’s wedding, whenever that is?” Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s chest, over his heart. “Please don’t say no,” he whispered. “You are _so_ my type.”

Derek raised his chin and kissed him, which was fantastic, but not an answer. Stiles moaned his disappointment into the kiss, but didn’t pull away because he was pretty sure Derek was more of an actions-guy anyway.

He was definitely good at the physicality part of physical therapy, Stiles could quickly attest to this.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out for more at [redhoodedwolf](http://redhoodedwolf.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
